


Hallowed Ground

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Catholic Guilt, Catholic Steve Rogers, Confessions, Eventual Smut, M/M, Priest AU, Priests, Religious Conflict, Smut, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve is a Good Christian Boy, vow of chastity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 07:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: Steve leaves the Avengers and becomes a Reverend.





	1. Stained Glass

The last of the congregation trickled out from their spaces in the pews. He said goodbye to some, uttering polite blessings to those who came close enough to hear, and small waves to those who were not. The coloured oblongs of light that filtered through the stained glass above him had lost their beauty over the last few months. The shapes they cast on the parquet floor were just another thing for his tired eyes to focus on. Steve hoped that his exhaustion did not show in his sermons, that the people who turned to him for spiritual guidance did not see the way his eyes wandered absently around the dimly lit church, and that the wavering in his faith did not colour his words.

He thanked God that the evening service was the last of the night. He looked forward to going home, freeing himself from the heavy black robes that he had been wearing all day and slumping into bed until the morning. At the beginning, sermons did not feel like work. He left every service with a lightness in his chest that made him feel invincible. He would float to his car with the Word running over and over in his head, and he would wake up the next morning ready to do it all over again. He was not sure if it was his body slipping or his spirit, but now, the thought of a 7am service made him feel like he was carrying a weight on his shoulders that was bearing him into the ground.

He turned away from the naves, facing the altar and scrubbing his hands over his eyes, sighing through his nose and pulling his clergy collar out of his shirt with a snap, stuffing it in his satchel behind the pulpit. He remembered a time when a plastic clergy collar would have been a disgrace, but he reckoned that God’s interest would be in his action and words rather than his attire.

“Father,” A voice sounded from behind him, “Have you got a minute?”

Steve battled with the urge to pretend he had not heard. He stood up slowly and straightened his cassock. It was black, protestant style and as understated as he could manage without just resorting to wear some standard shirt and trousers. He reminded himself why he did what he did.

_This isn’t about you. You have a duty._

“I’m sorry it’s late,” The voice said, “About 70 years late.”

Steve wheeled around. Bucky stood there, eyes expectant, mismatched hands wrapped around a battered looking bible. His hair was tucked behind his ears, a few rogue strands laying across his slightly sunburned nose.

“You chose the most obscure job, in the most obscure church, in the most obscure town. Can you blame me?,” Bucky smiled.

Steve nodded, breathing a chuckle, his eyes not leaving Bucky’s.

“You said you’d never set foot in another church after what you saw in Siberia,” Steve murmured, “What brought you back?”

“Psalm 68:5. ‘A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling’,” Bucky recited, a shy grin playing on his mouth.

“Joshua 1:9. ‘Have I not commanded of you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid, do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go’,” Steve replied, a wider smile breaking on his face.

Bucky nodded with a slow sigh.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “I see that. Now, more than ever.”

Steve crossed the small space between them, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, squeezing a little before looking down at his feet.

“It’s good to have you back,” He whispered earnestly, “It means a lot. You’ve struggled with your faith…”  


“I’ve missed you, Steve,” Bucky interrupted, “More than you know.”

 

Steve was caught off guard by the openness. Bucky was not usually one for sharing his feelings aloud. Maybe time had changed him, maybe Wakanda had taught him something of frankness. Whatever the source, Steve liked it. The closeness he had missed seemed to edge its way into the doorway of their relationship after lurking in impenetrable shadows for decades.

“Where are you staying?” Steve asked, walking them own the aisle toward the large double doors at the front of the church.

“A motel,” Bucky shrugged, “It’s not too bad. It’s downtown.”

Steve grimaced.

“Well, even my couch would be better than that,” He joked, “Plus, all of the hair in my bathroom is from a reliable source.”

Bucky winced at the memory of the hair on the soap in his motel room bathroom.

“I must admit, mine had a few…anonymous donors,” He laughed, shuddering dramatically.

Steve pulled a face of disgust and slowed their walk to a stroll before they got to the door. The church was stiflingly silent. Not even the usual creaking of the old beams made their presence known in the hush. The smell of old wood and candle smoke, the way that ceiling looked dwarfing and lofty, all of this faded into the background as they shared that absolute silence.

“Let’s go home,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky nodded, swallowing down words and confessions he knew that he needed to wait to divulge. They coiled in his chest, desperate to be let out into the open. They had churned there for too long, poisoning him and making him weak when faced with the contact from Steve that he craved almost painfully.

Steve smiled softly and rubbed Bucky’s shoulder one last time.

Suddenly, the light from the stained glass did not ache his eyes. It did not make him want to curl up in the dark. It painted Bucky’s face with a myriad of colours, royal purples, forest greens, making him into a more beautiful piece of art than the windows themselves.

Suddenly, it was the most breath-taking thing he had ever seen.

 


	2. A Home

“What made you do this?” Bucky asked, breaking the silence between them in the car, “Become a priest, I mean.”

Steve smiled and furrowed his brow, staring out at the open road in front of him. The conifers that fringed either side of the rain slicked road darkened the whole scene, casting finger-like shadows across the dashboard.

“Well, I started clerical training before the serum. You remember that, right?”

Bucky nodded, frowning at the hazy memory in his head. I was vague, but it was there.

“I thought that I might as well keep going. The fighting, the conflict, it all pushed me over the edge. I knew I wanted to do it, it just took a push,” Steve explained.

Bucky nodded, looking back out of his window. The rain streaked the glass, making the world outside look like and oil painting that had been smudged, distorting the trees, blending the sky into the leaves.

“This place is…remote,” Bucky muttered.

“Exactly,” Steve smiled, turning into his driveway, a small gravel path shrouded by trees.

The ground was littered with pine needle, a messy green and brown carpet of them that stuck to their shoes and smelled like Christmas and rain.

“Here we are,” Steve sighed, “This is home. For now, anyway.”

They stepped out of the car, walking up to the porch of the small, sliding panelled house. Even with the lights off, it seemed to radiate warmth. A home. It sure looked like one. Bucky realised that he had probably forgotten what a home _felt_ like, but he knew one when he saw one.

“It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, but I like it,” Steve shrugged.

Bucky nodded, suddenly more anxious than he had been all day. Something seemed to fix him in place. Steve walked up the porch steps, seemingly unaware.

“You coming?” He asked, turning to face him with a concerned expression.

Bucky nodded, taking a slow breath that shivered on the exhale. He wiped the sweat from his hands on his hands on his jeans. At any other time, he would have been amused at the fact that he had wiped the metal one too, but now, the uncertainty running through his veins like kerosene was clouding any humour that he had left in him.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” Bucky mumbled.

“Fuck, I’m going to ruin this.”

Steve’s concerned frown deepened and he hopped down from the porch, crossing the space between them. He placed his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, squeezing gently, feeling the distinction between muscle on the right and cool metal on the left. Through a t-shirt, the coldness could still be felt, but in some way, it was not inhuman.

“Ruin what?” Steve asked quietly

“This,” Bucky sighed, gesturing the house, “Everything you’ve done to get away from the action.”

“You’re _good_. You’re a good man. You’ve got morals, you can move from your past. I can’t, that stuff can’t be erased; it’s with me forever. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

Steve closed his eyes, sighing slowly. He pulled Bucky to his chest, wrapping his arms around him in a hug that seemed to block out the world around them. The rain, the chill in the air, the almost cloying smell of wet earth and pine needles, everything went. Bucky found himself holding on harder than he wanted to, as if Steve were the only thing stopping him from drowning.

“So,” He mumbled against his chest, “Do I have to call you ‘Captain’ or ‘Reverend’ now?”

Steve snorted a laugh against Bucky’s shoulder, finally pulling away from the hug and guiding him up the porch.

“Past this door, I don’t want you worrying that you aren’t welcome, that you aren’t worthy. Nothing like that, okay?”

Bucky nodded. For once, he felt as if he could keep that promise.

 


	3. Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some semi-graphic blood descriptions.

_The Asset stood in the doorway of the church. Snow from outside had been trailed in on their boots, but it was no longer white. It was pink, impregnated by the streams of blood that ran in channels between the flat stones that made up the floor. The smell of it was cloying, organic and metallic in a way that stuck in the throat as if you were tasting it._

_The congregation were slumped over the pews. Women and children. Only a small proportion of the people there were the ones they had to terminate, but their orders were absolute; no witnesses. The Asset’s hands trembled on the trigger of his rifle, buzzing with anxiety and stifling nausea that threatened to double him over and make him retch. He walked up and down the aisles of the small, remote church, checking pulses of the victims that were less obviously dead, the ones with their faces intact, the ones without gaping, sinewy holes in their chests. The rest of his team were now outside of the building, preparing for the long drive back to the bunker, so he slowly made his way to the pulpit, anxiety prickling over his skin as he approached the Reverend, lying prone on the floor with a moat of crimson trailing from his throat._

_He looked down at the man, at his blonde hair, stained brown and coppery with his own blood and sticking to his temples like wet feathers. His eyes stared straight up at the ceiling of the church, their startling blue starting to glaze to something milky and vacant. The reverend made a strangled, wet sound as he choked on his blood. His lips were white, struggling against words that he did not have the air to form._

_“Bucky,” The Reverend sputtered, “Please. Not like this.”_

_The Asset felt pain course through his temples as he remembered the face looking up at him. Panic flooded his tired body and he reached shakily for his holstered pistol._

_“Please,” The Reverend begged once more._

_Bucky shut his eyes as one last gunshot rang through the church, then he let the pain take him to his knees. He cradled blue-eyed man to his chest and held him until he was cold._

_“That’s not my name, Stevie,” He whispered through tears, “That’s not my name.”_

Bucky sat upright on the couch, sweat running into his eyes and blurring the dark living room even more than the sleep in his eyes. The shivers that took over his body forced him back down against the pillows, staring at the ceiling and covering his ears to stem the pounding behind his eyes.

“Please,” He gasped, “Please. Please, no.”

Light flooded the room as Steve pushed the door open and entered the room.

“Buck?”

The soldier fought through the gasping sobs that were tearing his throat apart. Steve crossed the room and sat on the edge of the couch, silent but present.

“Don’t rush,” Steve reassured softly, “Just speak when you’re ready.”

Bucky nodded and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. The film of sweat covering his body cooled, throwing him from burning heat to sudden coldness. As the room decompressed around him, the shadows became just that. Just shadows, no more ominous warping figures that stretched their long bodies across the walls. No more ambiguous faces in the wallpaper.

“I’m…I’m okay,” Bucky managed to choke out.

Steve sighed, sliding off the arm of the couch and sitting next to him.

“No, you aren’t,” Steve said, clutching Bucky’s hand.

The contact nearly pulled Bucky back to the tears that he had been stemming. The urge to fall into Steve’s arms and break down completely nearly overwhelmed him. It was like holding his breath. He had lasted for a while, but now, he felt like he was burning from the inside, starved of something that he needed to survive.

“I had a dream,” He explained, “I have them a lot. You can go back to be, I’m sorry I woke you up.”

Steve shook his head and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, so he could better see Bucky’s face.

“Don’t,” Bucky groaned, “I’m a mess.”

Steve huffed a short laugh.

“You’re gorgeous, hush yourself,” He sighed, chuckling.

“In the eyes of God, right?” Bucky smirked.

Steve grinned and shook his head, sitting back against the cushions and looking at the ceiling.

“He certainly did a good job on you, I thank him that I have the privilege to set eyes on you.”

Bucky turned to Steve sharply and frowned.

“Are you…drunk or something?” Bucky asked sceptically.

Steve laughed out loud, his face lighting up with something that made Bucky’s chest feel tight.

“No,” He assured, “I took a vow not to drink. And a vow of devotion, and a vow of chastity.”

“Jesus, _why_?” Bucky asked, his face contorting in sympathy and confusion.

“Goes with the job, there’s not much I can do about it.”

Bucky looked down at his hands and thought. No sex, no alcohol, no slipping. It sounded like the exact opposite of a good time, but Steve’s choices were his own.

“You spent seventy years under the ice, just to come out and say you were _never_ going to have sex again?” Bucky whispered, “You are either crazy, or terrifyingly devoted.”

“Both,” Steve clarified.

“Don’t you miss it?”

“The sex or the alcohol?” Steve asked.

Bucky paused again. Steve was never much of a drinker, even when he could get drunk. He hated vomiting so much that he would not risk it. As for sex, he was not sure if Steve had ever gone that far, before the war or otherwise. It was not something he had ever asked or gotten the opportunity to.

“The sex, I guess,” Bucky shrugged.

Steve smiled knowingly, breathing in deeply before speaking.

“I don’t know. I don’t _miss_ it. You can’t miss something that you’ve never done.”

 _Steve’s a virgin. Steve’s a fucking virgin,_ Bucky thought to himself, trying not to let the surprise show on his face.

“But everyone has…urges. The serum doesn’t help, everything is dialled up to eleven, you know that as well as anybody. But I just have to remind myself…”

“Remind yourself what?” Bucky asked.

It was Steve’s turn to pause. He stared at the floor in front of them, furrowing his brow how he always did when the thought.

“Well, I’m not actually sure,” He finally admitted, “I’m not really bound by a parish. It’s a small town. I just follow rules.”

“Blindly?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow to try and soften the accusation.

Steve nodded slowly, suddenly looking troubled by the concept.

“Yeah,” He frowned, “Blindly.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
